You have all been very patient with me and here I am, back again with yet another chapter. Now, I'd like to make a point of that as much as I love you all, this one-or-two-reviews per chapter is not gonna cut it from now on. I began writing this story not just for the kicks: I started witting to get better at it. I very much love it, and I really want to get better.
So I would very much like for more feedback from you about every chapter. Especially now that I am off script and on my own, I need you help in making this story the best it can be. I can't do that without knowing what you think about what I write. So please say things - I'd really appreciate it.
Anyway, please enjoy the chapter:
Part two: Aftermath
I come to, to a strange cold, curled up in a ball and shivering in the thin hospital gown that I was dressed in. In spite of what I'd heard about taking some time to remember where you are, I didn't, already knowing exactly what had happened earlier. I let out a shaky, cold breath and, with my eyes still glued shut in sleep, reach down my legs, searching blindly for my blanket. I never find it. With an irritated groan, I keep aimlessly searching for a means of warmth and as I do, I turn over, only to knock into something hard. A wall, maybe? No, the cot is in the middle of the room; the nearest wall is a good three feet away from me. And walls aren't clothed in hospital blankets. As I find where my blanket went, I go to yank at it to pull it over my head and go back to sleep. As I do, whatever is next to me pulls it farther away from me. Curious as to what is hogging my blanket, I reluctantly crack my eyes open.
I nearly jump out of my skin. Next to me, his back pressed to my side as he pushes me to the far end of the cot is Sam – I can recognize the messy bed hair. I lazily twist in place, careful not to fall over the edge of the hospital bed, to get a better look through my ever-so-slightly open eyes. Trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes, I try to hull myself up into a sitting position but fail, slumping back down after about three inches. I don't bother trying again. Instead I try to shake him, whispering his name a few times. "Sam, get your fat ass away from me before I drop on the floor." He, of course, doesn't hear me, continuing to snore loudly. I groan, shoving him again but he remains dead to the world as ever. He isn't as tight a sleeper as me, but given what he's been through, I'm surprised he even made it here.
Then it hits me: Sam's here. As in, in the hospital – in my room, in the hospital. Sam is here! Sam is here with me in the hospital and he's ok! I almost scream in absolute utter joy, throwing my good left arm around him and leaning into his peacefully sleeping form. He groans, turning in his sleep further towards me until I literally have only several inches of mattress left to lie on. I groan in exasperation, growling in warning at the sleeping boy as he pushes me further off of my bed. I try – and fail, as he is too heavy and I am too weak – to push him away but give up after the first half of my failing attempt. So I let it go with a grunt, retreating to half-lying on Sam's shoulder and half on what's left of my bed. But I sure as hell don't complain. Not in the romantic sense, of course, as much as the simple fact that I can freely place my ear to his chest and hear his heart beating – a rhythmic, relieving sound that assures me more than anything.
A strong, determined heartbeat, set on beating on and on and never stopping for a second. Thud-thud… thud-thud… thud-thud… thud-thud…
I let the sound of a strong and willing heart ease me from my dreams, assuring me of that he is, in fact, here and alive and well and safe. He lived through it all and came back to me as I wanted so much to make him promise. You come back to me, you hear me? You come back! I wanted so much to shout it to him – to wrap my arms around him and hold him while I could. But instead I decided to be an idiot. Did I say anything? No! I didn't say a damn thing but a stupid 'I'm sorry'! "I'm sorry" could have been the last words he'd hear me say, and I wouldn't have the chance to fix it! How could I have been so stupid? What is this, one of my short stories? Another fantasy I wrote? No, dumbass, this is reality and in reality people don't go around making out with the first person they make eye contact with before they go off to God knows what!
But that's in the past now. It's over, and I gotta move on from it, lest it comes back. If I learned anything in life is that you never linger on the past for it will come back in tenfold. Always have to move forward from something unpleasant otherwise it'll hunt you down and bring itself down on you in full force and you will not be able to stand with the weight of it all; you will collapse and it will break you, and now one will save you then. So I lay in silence, listening to the sound of Sam's heart beat, for how long I do not know, just letting the soft beating lull me out of my worries. I didn't lose him and that is all that matters.
After a while I get bored, however, and start fidgeting in my place, careful not to fall over. I try once again to shove him away from under me so I can rest in peace but as I have expected, my attempts are all in vain. Fine, let's try it another way. I look around for something to help me out but once my eyes land on the bedside table on my side of my bed, all thoughts of struggle abandon me as a brilliant idea comes to mind. I will have started something that will not stop for a long time. But it will all be worthwhile in the end. He might get the perfect blackmail material on me, but I will have just as much.
I reach – carefully not to drop to the cold stone floor – for the wheeled table, my hand combing over it until the tip of my middle finger reaches the red pen. I try to grab onto Sam for support with my other hand, but the extra strain on my arm makes me wince in pain as I feel the stitches move under the bandages that are supposed to be changed any minute now. So instead I shift my weight on the bed, drooping my legs over Sam's for balance, and lean farther off the side of the cot until I can finally – after great struggle and going red from holding my breath – reach my prize. Wrapping my hand securely around the pen, I sit back up, grunting in strain. Finally safe and fully lying in bed – half in bed and half sitting on Sam, that is – I let my right arms drop numbly and bite at the cap, pulling it off with my teeth. I don't spit it out, knowing I will probably not reach it with only one hand, let alone be able to pick it up should it fall between the two of us.
Thanking the universe for making me that fortunate soul that can write with both hands, I start on my devious plan. First I use my great – note the sarcasm – drawing skills to make a very thick, very red mustache over his upper lip. Once I'm done shading it in, the right side is smaller but a lot thicker than the left, and while it is very curved, the left is nearly a straight line. Nope; by hand I can barely draw a stick person and make it look decent. On a computer – I don't want to brag, but it's the truth – I'm really good. By hand, I'm an awful artist. Snorting at my dreadful job, I precede to writing in all caps B, open bracket, period, close bracket, the same again, B, I, E, and S. I snicker as I close the red pen once more, and turn back to the table, finding my phone on top of the clipboard. After I begged and pleaded Simmons to let me keep it close, he finally agreed. I spent all of my time here looking through the pictures on it and preying to whatever deity is watching over us that Sam is ok. Then I fell asleep. The nurse must have taken it from my hands and put it there while I slept – the nurse or Sam, when he came in.
I toss my pen at it, trying to get the robot's attention. I miss and the pen hits the edge of the table before falling on the floor. I grunt and repeat the procedure of reaching the table safely, and pound on it a little as I try to pull it closer. Once in reach, my hand falls heavily on the phone, and I drag in closer to me with my fingertips. "Ah-ha! Got you!" I cry out in a victorious whisper and pull myself back up. Leaving the flash on, I flip the phone around, its back to me, and take a picture of Sam sleeping and me wearing a bright, mischievous smile with my thumb up in pride next to him. Another one… another, and then I toss the phone back onto the rolling table. It bounces, but doesn't fall off – thank God.
It does, however, transforms, chattering at me in anger. I wave it off with an eye roll, not really caring for its possibly hurt feelings. What the hell do I care if I hurt its feeling, anyway? It isn't like I intend to keep it. I'll transfer all the data on it onto my computer, buy a new phone – one which isn't alive – and give this one to Simmons; he can decide what to do with it. After all, it's in his jurisdiction and field of expertise. I have no will or intention to keep that thing in my house, under my head as I sleep. I sure love technology, but once it starts talking to me, I stop trusting it.
Just as that happens, the door cracks open. I whisper at it to go back to being a phone as a nurse in the uniform white robe walks in. The look on her face as she sees me – half lying on a sleeping Sam – has a priceless reaction. Her face twists to one of surprise, then one of embarrassment, then one of shock – as I have seen enough movies to know what would be the first thought in her head – and finally anger. She bites her lip, her face becoming furious.
"What is the meaning of this?!" she trills. Then her eyes shift to the heart rate monitor, which is not working – as I just realized when I followed her gaze. Her jaw drops open in disbelief at the irresponsibility I'm sure she sees in me. Well… she isn't wrong. "Who did this?" Sam stirs, groaning as the sudden voice in the room. He stretches, reaching his free arm out to the ceiling, groaning some more. The nurse make her way over to him, smacking him roughly on the chest, a very displeased look on her face. "Get up," she hisses at him between clenched teeth, "this instant." He looks up at her, very confused as to what is going on. Still half asleep he looks around, his eyes hardly cracked open as he turns to look me up and down.
"Wha…?" He looks between me and the nurse for a while, very lost as to what is happening to him and why some stranger smacked him with a fist. As the blonde in the hospital uniform sees his left check, she brings her fingers to her mouth, muffling a giggle at the word "BOOBIES" written large and bold on his face. With my free hand I press my index finger to my lips to silence her when Sam looks away. "Get up; right now," she orders, her voice hard once again, the previous amusement all gone at once. She grabs a hold of the back of Sam's grey – grey? Where did his original clothes go? – shirt and pulls him out of bed, forcing him to wake up at once.
"Who? What? What's going on? Oh…" Reality draws on him and he looks around in discomfort, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. "Uh… I'll just…"
"Leave this room at once," the nurse orders, casting him a glance that I know to be 'this discussion is only just beginning'. Sam obeys, eyes wide under her glare, leaving the room but remains in the hallway, watching her and me through the window. I find his eyes and give a toothy smile, waving in giddy. He does the same, his face breaking into the smile I love so much. The nurse proceeds in lecturing my as the hooks me back up to the IV drip which had created a small puddle on the floor when I may or may not have pulled it out of my arm. She gives me a talking about how I lost a good liter of blood and how any longer and I could have been in a grave situation. Losing so much blood, it was a wonder I stayed conscious, given my condition. I lost a lot of blood, blah, blah, blah… I should be responsible, at least because this is my own life and I could have bled to death, blah, blah, blah… why in God's name did she find me in my cot, next to some random dude she'd never seen before, blah, blah, blah…
I successfully ignore most of what she says as she goes on to telling me my condition, and how serious it is that I wasn't on medication, and then about some prescription. What I do hear is her telling me, "You're legal guardian will be here shortly to pick you up." She gives me a prescription, and some pills, instructing me on how many times a day to use them, blah, blah, blah… When she asks me if I have any question I give her a lost look. "My… legal guardian?"
"Yes, the man who brought you in: Mr. Simmons," she clarifies. Mr. Simmons? Why the hell did he lie about being in charge of me? After she tells me that I will be let out by five today, I thank her and ask her to leave me be. She does, leaving but not letting Sam in. Instead, she goes to give him a talking the way she did, me. People walk by, turning to look at him and burst out laughing as they do, causing the poor boy to become incredibly confused as to what is so funny about him. I patiently wait for him to be released and when he finally is, I make room on the bed for him to sit; I lift the back of the cot back into the sitting position it was in before I went to sleep, which is a lot more comfortable than lying down. He dives straight into my open arms and there we stay in silence, each other's simple company being enough. Once in his arms, I immediately know I won't be the first one to let go. And why should I, if he is here? I'm perfectly happy where I am right now.
"Hey." Sam's the first one to break the silence. "Scoot over; I wanna sit down." I do, and he climbs on, his sudden weight on the bed snatching the covers from me once again. He laughs when I tug at them uselessly. I grumble but let it go. "How'd this happen?" he asks, his voice careful and gentle as his fingers ghost over the fresh bandages on my arm. I look down and then back to his face with an absent shrug. "This? Oh; that's just Simmons' handy-work." His face falters for a second, and I smack him in the head with my good arm – which works out very awkwardly as my good arm is also farther away from him. "The stitches, not the cut, stupid," I laugh, rolling my eyes at him. "You remember the things from the other night? The one Mikeala went 'Hulk is angry' on and totally hacked up?" A nod. "Yeah well, that thing came back to life like some sort of vampire or something. I don't know – point is: it came to Hoover Dam, believe it or not."
"Trust me, by this point Santa can show up at my front door, with the Leprechaun as his slave and the White Witch as his wife and I'd be all like "sup; how's life?" to them." I laugh at this, leaning into his shoulder, carefully not to lean too much on the stitches.
"Riiight. So anyway, the thing came, and was throwing these… these ninja stars around the whole place like a ninja," I continue, making a circle with both my hands to show the rough size of the ninja stars. "One of those things got lodged in my arm and we were deep underground and I have that whole 'absence of the clotting factor' thing in me so I was bleeding out like crazy with this six inch wide chunk of my arm missing. So we got to the infirmary, but it was almost directly beneath the Megatron Room, so it was trashed – brilliant floor plan, by the way, Sector Seven," I add, my voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. "Simmons found a First Aid kit somewhere and a flask of vodka and patched me up. And hey: I had my first drink before you did! After he poured half the flask out on my cut, he gave me a drink. Let me tell you something: I am never drinking again. And you shouldn't, either. The stuff was like swallowing pure acid. My throat still hurts. He said it helped with the pain. Well guess what: bull shit." I don't tell him that the ninja star was lodged half way in my bone, and now I have metal staples holding my arm together. He doesn't need to worry more.
Sam get me to elaborate on it some more, so I give him a play-by-play of my time in the bunker – dam; whatever. I don't tell him about the conversation about my parents, or that Simmons knew them (and apparently better than I do); I don't tell him that now Simmons is posing as my legal guardian, either. He lets me talk, and doesn't say anything when I'm done. I don't need to ask him to let it go, but I know I'll hear it all when we get home… whenever that may be. "You just wait, young lady, they'll come to question you, and there will be nothing you can do. They will torture you dry of information and leave you all alone to fend for yourself," he warns playfully, his voice deep and grumbling in mock threat. I shrug and lean my head on his shoulder, using him as a pillow. "It's ok; you'll be my knight in shiny armor and come to rescue me." He presses him lips together and shakes his head.
"Nope can't do. If I had to go through it, so do you; it's only fair that way." My mouth drops open in mock betrayal and I make a disappointed sound in the back of my throat – some sort of mix between a whine and a grunt.
"Fine, don't save me, you big meany; I'll just have to save myself," I huff, putting on a pouting face. I fight the urge to say "nice mustache, by the way" because I know he'll go to wash it all off. Nope; no way; I want his parents to see it. I hold back a rising snicker and change the subject, to get my mind off my art-work as I know that if I don't, I'll spill.
"Anyway: you, sir, are one hell of a hog. You nearly pushed my off this cot onto the floor!" I complain, pointing a strict finger at his face as I scowl. "I almost fell right off. And you took my blanket! I was cold and I had a few inches of mattress left to sleep on when I woke up. Next time," I warn, my voice hard and threatening, "I'll shove you on the floor." All Sam does is laugh.
"Yeah right! I'm like a hundred and forty pounds and you can't even drag me across the floor, let alone push me anywhere." His tone is mocking, teasing. I need that right now – we both do. Sam turns to me, looking a little past me and his face sinks. "Hey… where is your cell? It was right there."
"What? What are you talking about; it's right…" When I turn to the bedside table, the phone is gone. I freeze up, taking in a breath and holding it as my eyes jerk from side to side, scanning the room. I feel myself shiver. There is a giant-ass ant somewhere in this room. It's crawling with its nasty little legs somewhere. My eye twitches.
"Raven… don't move…" My back going ridged, I gulp. A sound in the back of my throat, somewhat resembling a wine, breaks free as I do exactly as Sam says: not move. "Don't… just don't make any sudden movements, ok?" he instructs in a weary voice, slowly as though he is speaking to a child.
"Sudden movements?" I squeak. "You mean like this: AHHH! Get it off me!" I start thrashing, shaking my head in every direction and shouting. Sam's hysterical laughter stops me, and I turn to look at him, his face turning purple from laughing. My mouth drops open as I realize it was a joke. "You little ass! I hate you!" I smack him on the arm, hard enough to draw an "ouch!" from him.
"Ok, ok! I'm sorry." he holds his hand up in surrender, stifling his laugh and composing himself as he adds, "But come on, admit it: it was pretty funny the way you screamed like a girl."
"Doesn't count," I huff. "I am a girl." I cross my arms – or rather, half cross them, and only with my good arm – and glare, making Sam only laugh more, at the expression on my face. "Did you talk to the Autobots? When are they leaving? Do we get to say 'bye'?" I change the subject once more, somehow feeling strange asking any of it. Some part of me still found it hard to believe that they were real and they were here. A large part of me feared Sam would turn to me with a confused look, asking me what I was talking about. It was a great chance – I hit my head, or ran into the wrong person in the wrong part of town, and this entire fiasco with aliens was just a crazy dream. But then I look at Sam and I see the cuts and scratches on his face and neck and I feel sick to my stomach.
Of course it was all real. Of course Mission City happened, and he was there, in danger. If course the Autobots were really here, fighting a war of their own on our land, with our people. And Sam's guardian – whatever that really is. He was real, too. And he was hurt by these people that took him. And I was so selfish and angry; I blamed him and all of them in my own troubles like a melodramatic teenager. He tried to save us from plummeting to our deaths – saved us from hitting the waiting ground, and saved us from that cop monster. And I never got to thank him for that. Sure I wasn't the most trustworthy person; nor was I a very grateful one. But he did risk his life for us, and that's gotta count for something – a lot of something's. And then there is Mission City; Sam said he had his legs blown right off.
"I don't know," Sam confesses, his face falling a little as he leans over the edge of the cot to look on the floor as he mutters something about "where is that damned cell phone?". I look, too, scanning the room for the missing phone which apparently grew some legs and vanished – literally grew some legs. "I… never got a chance to talk to them. When I heard you were in the hospital I kind of just didn't really care there for a moment. You know: 'cause of that whole 'blood doesn't clot and you bleed out' thing you have? I just figured they can take care of themselves." He climbs out of bed to check under it.
"Oh and I can't?" I feel a little hurt he would say that. Like I'm too weak to handle myself in a sticky situation. When I say it, he jumps up from his search under the wheeled bed, hitting his head as he does.
"What? No! I didn't say that!" He screeches the top of his head in a wince. "… Ouch. No; you know I didn't mean that! I just… you know… um… argh: whatever. It isn't under here – where the hell did it go?" he stutters, looking for the right words of apology. My head turns as I hear a scratching noise to my left. There, on the window sill is the palm-sized metal pest. It must have jumped from the table at the curtain. I vaguely remember the tiny inward spikes lining its tiny legs, specifically for climbing.
Sam retrieves it, letting it climb into his waiting hands. It hesitates for a while, but when Sam starts slowly taking his hands away, it complies. Sam's face twisted into disgust as he returns to his side of the bed, climbing onto the sheeted mattress when I take the blanket all to myself, tucking myself in. Sitting on one leg, he lets the bug out of his hands, onto the bed and I groan my disagreement. It stays a distance from me, aimlessly wandering the length of the bed but never crossing the invisible line of comfort. Smart bastard knows I hate it. Probably hates me, too. Fine: I don't need its love; I need it gone.
We watch it silently, letting it do its business and after a while it becomes clear that its wandering isn't aimless: its learning its new environment; just as he did in the communications room back at the dam.
"You know… now that you think about it: it's kinda cute. In an odd, metal way," Sam observes distantly; as though he just stated that the sky is blue and water is wet. I look closer, but don't see it. "You're just too chicken to see it yet. Don't worry: he'll grow on you." No he won't: I'll give it back to Simmons once I sync it with my laptop and back up all the data on it. Then it's fair game. But I don't say that because I know Sam will disapprove of that choice. After all, Sector Seven did hurt Bee. So they are certainly not above hurting it as well.
Great: there go my morals about hurting animals.
"So… are you gonna name it?" I give him a hard look.
"Why not? It's just an ant; what's not to like?"
"Are you testing me? Because I can easily acquaint you with this ant better," I threaten, growling, mentally noting that the metal insect moved away from me as I did so. "You are just asking to be beat up, aren't you?"
"You're angry because now you have to sleep with a bug under your head if you want to wake up on time for school," he teases, sticking his tongue out at me childishly. I growl as he lists yet another one of my fears.
"Another word, and I will shove this cute ant so far up your ass, you will be choking," I warn, getting nothing but a laugh from him. "I hate you," I mutter under my breath, slumping back into the raised back of the cot, sighing as I do so.
"No ya don't: you love me and you know it." I ignore him for as long as I can – which really isn't long at all – before looking back down at the robot. Sam reaches his hand out to it and after some consideration on its part, it takes the offer, letting Sam pet it gently. Ok, I'll admit it: if I close my right eye and turn my head like this and squint… yeah, it does look a little cute. But under no circumstances will I touch it any longer than I have to.
"SaberTooth," I state bluntly, not really registering the words until they are out of my mouth.
"What?" Sam questions, stopping what he is doing to look at me.
"SaberTooth: one word, capital S, capital T. You wanted me to name it; I did."
"Oh… why 'SaberTooth'?"
"Well, if you look closely, the teeth it has on its face kinda look like Diego's tusks. So I figured if Diego is a saber toothed tiger, why not call it that?" Sam nods in understanding and returns to petting him.
"How do you know it's a 'he? What if he's a she?"
"Then… then I don't know. I'll probably give it some creepy name when I wake up in the middle of the night to this glowing red orb staring my in the face," I tell him with a shrug. "What about… Oh; I know!" I cry out, raising a finger as the name comes to mind. "Why not name it after Star Wars? I mean it's totally an alien – sort of – and it isn't like I can name it "Agent J" or "TARDIS" or "Scar". So why not… NightWalker?"
"Like Luke Skywalker," I explain, "only since odds are I'll wake up screaming in the middle of the night, I can call it – if it's a she, 'NightWalker'. And the name kinda reminds me of vampires: the bringers of death by night." Sam chuckles at my name suggestions, but doesn't argue. Once a comfortable silence fell, Sam leaned back into the cot and I shifted my weight to rest my head on his shoulder as I had done so many times before. It felt safer that way, I guess, with all that happened. After some eight or so hours ago, the closer to Sam I was, the easier it was to convince myself that he was safe and well and really here.
"Yeah?" His voice was soft, spoken in a breath of air, quietly as though not to startle a sleeping child. I smiled to myself, and snuggled into his side more. He was like my own human sized teddy bear.
"I'm scared. What if I go to sleep again? I don't want to go to sleep. What if I wake up and this was all a dream and you're not here? What if Megatron got you before Optimus can save you?"
Sam was silent for a time and underneath me, I could feel his frame shake a little – my own personal tiny earthquake, if you will. And then I'm afraid I said too much. Of course he wouldn't want to be reminded of what happened to him. Of course he has the same fear of going to sleep and never waking up. I shouldn't have said anything. But I need to know that he is real, and he is here, and he is not going anywhere.
"Well then we're just gonna have to hold hands so that I don't disappear on you," he says finally, his tone light and joking. Still, I find his hand and grab a good hold of it, lacing my fingers with his, our hands on his lap. He brings his other leg up onto the mattress and the ant scurries out of the way. He lets the thing climb onto his leg and settles into comfort next to me, resting his head on the top of mine.
"We're gonna be ok, you know. It'll all be fine." And I believe him with more confidence than I ever felt. Yeah… we'll be alright. This'll all work out just fine. With Sam near me, I'll always be fine.
Two hours later, Simmons comes, dropping a snarky comment about how we are so cute that he just wants to puke – and about how nice Sam's new 'tattoo' looks, causing him to get very confused – and sends Sam away with another agent. He tosses a grey outfit at me, identical to the one Sam wore, and leaves me to change out of the hospital gown. I grab SaberTooth, forced to hold him in my hand as I don't have pockets, and grab my medication before leaving the room. The older man waits outside, and as soon as I leave the room, gestures for me to follow.
I get into the back seat of a car, and Simmons climbs in from the other side. As soon as the door closes, we drive away from the hospital, a silence setting in. I don't let it last long, however, as I have questions he owes me answers to – even though he really doesn't owe me anything.
"Where are we going?"
"You need to be questioned. Then you're gonna learn a little something about paperwork and secrecy. I hope I don't need to explain what will happen should you say anything about the last two days, Ms. Montague," he states bluntly, impartially.
"I'll be written off as crazy and find myself in the mental ward?" I try, knowing full well that that is not the right answer. It may not be the correct response to the clearest rhetorical question but it's far more likely than someone actually believing me that I was caught up in an alien war. Only a crazy person would listen to me, so there is no risk of the secret getting out. Still, I'd watched enough films to know I will never see daylight again, should I start talking.
"Yeah, I know; you'll lock my up 'for my own good', as you people say." I huff when I get a scolding look from the agent. Toying with my phone in my lap, I start nervously bouncing my leg up and down. "Simmons-" I start, but he beats me to my thought with a long, exasperated sigh.
"I'm no fan of telling you any of this, but they'd want you to know. I tried talking myself out of it but I gave my word and I broke it a couple times over the past year. I own them this much." he tells me suddenly, gaining himself a very confused, sideways glance. He sighs, as though preparing himself for something immeasurably unpleasant. I gulp down my nearvousness, but almost choke on it when he continues talking.
"Montague… we gotta talk about your parents."
So there you go: an entire chapter dedicated to fluff. I did it! I'm not too good at romance with a best friend, but I did my best, and I like it – finally.
Now I would like to know what you guys think. Whether it's about this particular chapter or the story in general, I want reviews, please. Other than that, have a wonderful day-slash-night!